


After All This Time...

by EarendilEldar



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, Slow Romance, last to realise they've been a couple all this time..., sweet romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-03-01 03:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18792079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: After Glorfindel returns to the West and goes to find out how Erestor has fared since the sailing of the Ring-bearers (see: "Changed Worlds"), he heads back to catch up with his old friend from the days of Gondolin.  Has there been *something* there, all this time?  Well, duh!  Silly Elves....





	1. Chapter 1

As Glorfindel departed Dûnereg, the long-home of his dear friend, Erestor, and his beloved husband, Celebrimbor, he found himself smiling at how perfectly happy the two were.  All the time he’d known Erestor in Imladris, he could count on one hand the times he’d heard a genuine laugh from the Chief Counselor.  That night, through dinner and dessert, Erestor had laughed freely and openly, warmly and affectionately.  It was a testament to the healing power of the western lands and Glorfindel was truly happy for the two lovers. It all reminded him how glad he was to be home to Aman. 

He had to admit to himself that he was slightly disappointed to have missed Erestor’s wedding to the erstwhile Lord of Eregion.  It had to have been a poignant day, celebrating the immortality of true love, but he understood why Erestor would not want to wait even a moment more to have the union of their fëar known publicly and officially. Of course, it seemed that all and sundry, from Ost-in-Edhil to Mithlond to Khazad-dûm and even beyond the mountains, were well aware of their union, but Erestor was ever one for things being by-the-book and formal.  When he thought of it, he realized that Erestor had never even referred to Celebrimbor as his husband until now.  Surely, any other who endured the sundering of a joined fëa would have ceased making such a distinction.

If Glorfindel were honest, he had long been somewhat envious of Erestor.  Despite the long, painful, fretful years he’d been separated from his beloved, Erestor yet knew such a depth and strength of love as Glorfindel had no way of imaging.  Many times he’d wondered if it was so that there were some Elves who were fated not to know love.  Or perhaps it was only in Endor, where peril was all but constant, that love eluded some.

Glorfindel walked back along the path toward the woodland that encircled Tirion, wondering if he would find Ecthelion still in the clearing where he’d come across him upon his arrival from the quayside.  The scent of the woods was comforting and fresh, rich with cedar and moss and those herbaceous blue flowers.  It was lovely, of course, but not the scents he always associated with his memories of Ecthelion, which tended to be the sweet grasses of Tumladen, the bright, clear, splashing water that lent its name to the House of the Fountain, and the divine fragrance of the Alley of Roses.  

From somewhere in the trees behind him came a soft laugh and Glorfindel turned, only to find the very one he was seeking, standing by a tree with his flute in hand and a certain mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

“I wondered would you walk right by me,” Ecthelion snickered. 

“You were stood behind a tree,” Glorfindel contended, crossing his arms and rather forgetting that he was now wearing robes with deep sleeves instead of the simple tunic and leggings he’d had on when he arrived earlier.  “And you weren’t playing.  I thought to follow your music if I was to find you here again.”

“In other words, you did _not_ think to remember the way back to the clearing,” Ecthelion summarized with a smirk.  “I would also wager that you have enjoyed several glasses of wine and at least some cordial, for you are now dressed as to look like you have just come from dinner at Dûnereg.  I think never has one departed _that_ house in sobriety.  Well, I have not yet taken my evening repast and was just on my way.  You are welcome to join me, of course, if you like.  Let us walk back to the city together.  Do you know where you will be staying whiles you establish your home?”

Ecthelion hooked his arm with Glorfindel’s and they set off together, much as they had often done in Gondolin.  For a moment, Glorfindel found himself cast back to those famed days of yore and scarcely noticed that he had been asked a question.  Perhaps Ecthelion was correct and he had imbibed more than he realized in Erestor and Celebrimbor’s company. 

“Forgive me, old friend, I think you may have it.  My thoughts are somewhat hazy,” Glorfindel said.  “I don’t suppose I’d really given it much thought where I’d be staying.  Surely there are lodgings about the city?”

Ecthelion shook his head and moved his arm to wrap round Glorfindel’s shoulders.  “Lodgings!  You foolish Elf!” he laughed.  “You shall stay with me, of course, as long as you shall like.”

Glorfindel looked over at his friend with a slight shake of his head.  “That’s not necessary, Eithel.  I’m sure -”

“Need it be _necessary_ for the invitation to stand, Mallos?  Come, we have such a lot of catching up to do!  You might as well stay with me, for all the time we’ve got to cover.”

Glorfindel smiled warmly at his companion and wrapped his arm around Ecthelion in turn.  “Thank you, and yes, we have much to talk of, indeed.”

“You are always welcome, Mallos,” Ecthelion said, tugging Glorfindel a bit closer.  “Now, how was your visit to Dûnereg?  I’ve got to know Erestor and gathered you and he were great friends in Elrond’s house.”

“Aye, he mentioned knowing you and that you commiserated over your shared hardship.  Which he intimated to be my own much-abused self!” Glorfindel huffed.

Ecthelion threw his head back and laughed uninhibitedly.  “I should imagine he had an even worse time of it than I, keeping your ego in check.  Emissary of the Valar, indeed!  Could that have been the _same_ Glorfindel of Gondolin who once slipped a recently deceased rodent under the dinner cloche of the Lord of the House of the Harp?”

“It wasn’t just a rodent.  It was a mole.  I thought he might have appreciated the gift,” Glorfindel muttered.

“Still, the mole itself was quite innocent.”

“I never killed it!” Glorfindel insisted.  “It was done in by one of Egalmoth’s cats who didn’t fancy actually eating it.  I just gave it to someone who would.”

“Gods, you are a terror!” Ecthelion laughed, but then his smile faded as he recalled more of those days.  “Ai… but I do wish our king had harkened more to your advice than Maeglin’s, for you may be a terror, but I think there never has been a more loyal Elf since the days of Cuivienen.  And, hear me now, take notes if you wish, for I will never speak of this again – when I heard what you did to get Idril and Tuor and beautiful little Eärendil to safety… I wept.”

“Then they must surely have been the same tears I wept when Tuor told me you fell defending him,” Glorfindel said quietly.  “Our entire city was in flames below me, but it was not till then that I felt my heart had been ripped from me.  I am sorry, Eithel, I have not thought of it in so long,” Glorfindel said, pressing a hand over his eyes. 

 Ecthelion stopped and pulled Glorfindel into his arms.  “I often have thought it better not to think on, let alone speak of,” his said softly, “but perhaps, though we be rehoused and have naught but days of peace ahead of us, perhaps sometimes we must speak of these things with those who also bore them before we can truly be free of them.”

“We could spend an age, Eithel, talking of things of which we do not speak,” Glorfindel murmured, pressing his face against Ecthelion’s shoulder.  Then he took a breath and shook his head and said, “Come, let us speak of happier things a while.  We are nearly to the city now.  Where is your home situated?”

“Partway up the south slope, where my fountain can reflect much starlight,” Ecthelion said, leading Glorfindel up the path to the city.

“I wondered if you would have a fountain here, too,” Glorfindel said.  “Fountains all about the house, as well?”

“Of course,” Ecthelion smiled.  “The splashing of water has always made me want to make music.  I think it the best accompaniment other than a harp.”

“Child of Ulmo, you are,” Glorfindel grinned.  “I recall you, sitting on the ground beside the fountain just in front of your house, playing a beautiful tune….  I fell asleep listening and had a beautiful dream.  Only… it was so very long ago that I remember nothing of that gift from Lord Irmo, now.  I just know that it made me feel truly contented.  I should like to have that dream again one day.”  

Ecthelion reached to take Glorfindel’s hand and said, “I think we shall have many lovely dreams to come, Mallos.”

As Glorfindel looked into Ecthelion’s eyes, he saw there a sparkle that he didn’t think he’d ever noticed before, and not that mischievous one from before.  It looked much like the sparkle the shone in Erestor’s eyes when he saw Celebrimbor approaching the garden earlier that day, but it looked different in Ecthelion’s blue eyes… it seemed more captivating, somehow.  Glorfindel found himself recalling the contentment of that long-forgotten dream, and holding on to Ecthelion’s hand a little tighter.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last! I've got my Feanorians to be quiet long enough for me to drag more out of these slightly recalcitrant Gondolindrim.

 

“I think nothing has changed,” Glorfindel said in wonder as he and Ecthelion passed the south gates of Tirion. 

“A few things have,” Ecthelion grinned, nodding toward a courtyard where Elves gathered about tables laden with food and pitchers of wine.  At a large table in the center of the courtyard sat a tall, dark-haired Elf.  Beside him was a tall Elf with unbound, fire-red hair and another dark-haired Elf with ribbons of gold in his hair.

“Is that…?  It cannot -”

“Aye, Fingon and Maedhros are wed now, and they dine here with Turgon most frequently, along with Elrond and his lady.  All those old quarrels are no more amongst the line of Finwë and these are now the happiest of families.”

“Then I think their happiness shall grow this day,” Glorfindel said, “for Elrond’s sons made the voyage with me.  I should like to visit Elrond before long, but I think it best to let the family be together again for some time first.”

“As I have heard it, you are very much a part of Elrond’s family,” Ecthelion said.  “He will be very happy to have your company again.  But I do understand your meaning.” 

“Is that Egalmoth there, too, under the tree?” Glorfindel said, peering through the crowd in Turgon’s courtyard where he spotted an Elf in royal-blue robes that sparkled wherever the sunlight slipped between the leaves.  Another Elf sat beside him, _close_ beside him, robed in twilight purple.  “And _Duilin_?” Glorfindel said in surprise.  In Gondolin, though their archers fought faithfully side-by-side and were most formidable, the Lord of the Arch and the Lord of the Swallow bickered constantly, usually because Egalmoth’s cats often made a feast of Duilin’s birds.

“Oh, yes,” Ecthelion laughed.  “It would seem the cats of the West have no taste for feathers, and so there is unprecedented harmony between them now.  In fact,” Ecthelion said, leaning in close and lowering his voice to a whisper, “Duilin’s title now has an entirely different meaning.”  

Glorfindel’s eyes went wide and he immediately diverted his attention away from the cosy couple under the tree.  “Indeed, the changes are great here after all…”

Ecthelion snickered.  “Indeed.  Come, my house is this way,” he said, taking Glorfindel’s arm.

“I thought you wanted to eat?” Glorfindel said. 

“Aye, but you’ve had your supper.  I shall show you to my home first and let you make yourself comfortable.  You will be weary after travelling, surely?” Ecthelion said. 

“I won’t hear of it, Eithel,” Glorfindel said stubbornly.  “Come, you are hungry, and I shall be pleased to greet Turgon again as well.  You mustn’t allow yourself to be put out by a late-come, unannounced guest.”

“You may join me if you like,” Ecthelion said, “but you may also cease referring to yourself as a guest, at once.  You are never a guest at home, Mallos.  And you _are_ home, evermore.”

Looking into Ecthelion’s bright blue eyes, Glorfindel saw there again that magical sparkle that reminded him of the way Erestor’s eyes light up whenever he saw Celebrimbor.  The words ‘home’ and ‘evermore’, spoken in Ecthelion’s beautiful, rich voice, sounded like a madrigal. 

“Aye,” Glorfindel nodded.  “I would like to join you.”

Ecthelion smiled and took Glorfindel’s hand.  “Good.  Let us sit with our friends of old.  You should know that you have been very dearly missed upon these shores.”

As the two approached the table, Turgon poured out two more goblets of wine and said to Fingon, “Along comes your accompaniment, brother.”

Fingon turned to greet Ecthelion, but stopped when he caught sight of the blond Elf with him.  That could be none other than the Golden Flower of whom Ecthelion often spoke and sang, especially judging by the glitter in Ecthelion’s eyes.  Fingon couldn’t help the knowing smile that stole across his lips.  Turgon had mentioned on several occasions that Glorfindel was the sole and only Elf in all of Gondolin who was unaware of that fact that he and Ecthelion were a couple and now that Fingon saw them together with his own eyes, he had to agree.  But he was also rather certain that that unawareness wasn’t going to stand long. 

Fingon nodded politely to Ecthelion and Glorfindel and gestured an invitation for them to take the seats beside him and Maedhros.  Then he turned back to Turgon and said, “Five bottles of wine says one week.”

Maedhros gave a short laugh and said, “Why do you not just give your brother the wine now, darling?” 

“Now, now.  We have to keep it interesting,” Fingon smirked.

“Quite right,” said Turgon.  “Ten bottles, three days,” he countered.  “And my most joyful greetings to my dearest Captains of old.  One of whom took a considerably longer road in arriving than the other.  But we have heard some very remarkable tales heralding you, my Lord Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel ducked his chin and raised a hand in a plea for Turgon to stop there.  He didn’t really feel like talking about his experiences running down orcs and Nazgul and such things.   

“Oh, come, Glorfindel!” Turgon said.  “Surely you have not grown too modest to regale us of such exploits as this fountain which somehow began to spout cordial instead of water?”

At that, Glorfindel ducked his head for a different reason.  “Oh, Valar,” he muttered, “I knew it was a mistake to allow others from Imladris to precede me.  I was not even here to defend myself!”

Turgon snickered.  “Well, you are here now.  Let us hear your defense!”

Glorfindel sighed.  “We were dining on the lawn that night – it was some high day or other – and I had brought two casks up from the cellar to be served that night.  I set them upon the edge of the fountain while I went to retrieve several more – an edge twice the width of the casks, I might add.  But it would appear that the cooper was perhaps a novice, for one cask dropped its bottom hoop and burst and caused the one next to it to do likewise.  So I would have it known that I’ve never intentionally adulterated a fountain in any of my lives,” Glorfindel said solemnly to Ecthelion. 

Everyone else at the table laughed uproariously, but Ecthelion just patted Glorfindel’s shoulder sympathetically and said, “I would never imagine such a thing of you.”

Fingon noted the look in Glorfindel’s eyes when Ecthelion rested his hand on the blond’s shoulder and turned to his brother, asking, “When would you like me to bring the wine?”

“Not until my wager is fairly won, brother!  For once it is in my home it shall not last long, and I would not have you demanding I return it,” Turgon said sagely.

“I did not think that wine would be such a dear commodity here,” Glorfindel murmured to Ecthelion.  “Perhaps it is well that I came across the sea with barrels of the stuff.”

Ecthelion just smiled as he served himself from the great trays covering the table.  “Wine is most assuredly not dear, but these brothers always have some manner of wager between them.”

“Will you not have a bit more, my dear friend?” Turgon said, smiling as he reached across to top up Ecthelion’s cup.  “And you, Glorfindel, does nothing here tempt your fancy?  We have plenty of other offerings available if there is something you might prefer.”

“I thank you, but I’m afraid I’ve eaten quite well already since my arrival here,” Glorfindel apologized.  “You see, I paid a visit to my friend Erestor and his husband and they were very generous hosts.”

“Anyone who is friend to Erestor and my nephew must be an Elf of the highest caliber,” Maedhros said sincerely.  “Well met.”

“I thank you,” Glorfindel said, nodding graciously.  “Although, I have no doubt that it was Erestor who told the tale of the cordial in the fountain!”

“It was, actually,” Ecthelion said with a mischievous smirk. 

“Hmm.  I get the feeling that my own person must have been a popular topic of conversation about these squares and courtyards,” Glorfindel said coyly.

“In certain contexts,” Ecthelion chuckled.  “But always with the highest affection.”

“I’m glad I’m here now to defend myself,” Glorfindel grinned.

“I’m glad you are, too,” Ecthelion smiled.  “We shall have much more fun now.”

“Agreed!” said Turgon heartily.  “I wonder, Finde… will you allow me to select my own bottles from your wine stores, or do you plan to foist the least of your stock upon me?”

For a half-moment, Fingon looked affronted.  “Dearest brother… the least of my stock here is still better than was the best of your stock in Gondolin.”

Maedhros, knowing much better than to remain between squabbling siblings, simply removed himself from his place at the table and relocated to chat with Glorfindel a while.  Once Ecthelion had finished his evening repast, he offered to continue to lead Glorfindel on to his house where he could take his rest after the long voyage and a day of reunions.  And so the pair of famed Balrog-slayers bid good-night to their companions and set out again across the city.


	3. Chapter 3

“What a beautiful home…,” Glorfindel said as Ecthelion led him up to a gleaming, crescent-shaped house with a grand, glittering fountain between the wings of the house. 

“Do you like it?” Ecthelion asked, “You see how the starlight is reflected in the fountain?”

“Aye,” Glorfindel nodded, following Ecthelion into the house and thinking that the starlight in the fountain’s water was nothing as compared to the starlight in Ecthelion’s eyes. 

“I know you’ve likely had well more than you want, but if you’d care for a cordial before settling in…,” Ecthelion offered.

“I should like that.  Perhaps we could sit beside your fountain?” Glorfindel said.

“Any time,” Ecthelion smiled brightly.  He went into the dining hall and emerged with a decanter and a couple small glasses and together they went back outside to Ecthelion’s fountain courtyard.  “Shall I play for you?  Or perhaps that will lull you to sleep before you’ve even settled in for the night?”

“Of course you should play if you like,” Glorfindel said.  “I think nothing has ever made me happier than listening to your music.”

Instead of raising his flute, though, Ecthelion lowered it for a moment and reached for Glorfindel’s hand.  “I really am very glad you’ve returned, Mallos.  I’ve missed you very greatly indeed.”

“As I’ve missed you, Eithel.  I can scarcely say how much….  It’s strange, because I do not think it occurred to me just how incredibly I’ve missed your company until I arrived here and came upon you in that clearing.  Though, I did have a moment of memory, not long ago….  I was not present at the time, but there were some travelling Dwarves who stayed at Imladris.  One of them had found an old sword in some troll-horde and was carrying it.  Elrond told me it was Orcrist and some other weapons forged in Gondolin had also been found - Olórin himself bore Glamdring from that same adventure.  And I remembered as though it were only that morning, how terribly elegantly you wielded that blade.  For a moment, all I could see before my eyes was your gleaming smile as you told me how many monsters you had dispatched.  Somehow, it saddened me.  I wished so that we had never had to be warriors and might have spent our days smiling for lovely things instead, like music and flowers….”

Ecthelion sat silent for a long moment, suddenly looking dejected whereas he had been so happy all evening.  “Glorfindel…,” he said hesitantly.  “It was never for the slaying of monsters that my smile gleamed, but for the sight of you uninjured.”

Glorfindel smiled fondly.  “What a very dear thing to say, my friend,” he said clasping Ecthelion’s shoulder.

Ecthelion sighed and lowered his head.  “It is more than that, Glorfindel.  I was less afraid standing in front of a Balrog than I am to speak these words to you…,” he murmured before taking a long drink of cordial.

“Ecthelion?” Glorfindel said, moving closer.  “Whatever is the matter?”  A strange feeling wound round his heart and tightened to see Ecthelion looking so disquieted and anxious. 

“Glorfindel, you must know that your friendship is the most valuable thing in all Arda to me.  Please say that I shall never lose it, even if what I am to tell you… is unwelcome.”

Glorfindel sat bewildered and concerned.  “Of course you shall never lose my friendship!  I cannot begin to imagine what could make you think….  Please, what can trouble you so here in this place of peace?  You must tell me, and whatever it is, we shall right it together.”

Ecthelion only lowered his head further and tears slipped unbidden.  “I do not know that there is anything to right it, for now I believe my keeping it secret was wise. I have hoped for so long… more than 6000 years, but now, after all this time… if you do not know, cannot see it… I don’t suppose you recognize it and so therefore do not feel it as I do.”

Glorfindel wrapped an arm around Ecthelion’s shoulders and said, “I have felt so many things since I saw the White Shores again this very morning, Ecthelion.  If you can but name this feeling, perhaps I can tell if I have felt it as well?”

“Would you not know if you had felt love, Glorfindel?” Ecthelion whispered despondently.

For a few moments, Glorfindel considered the question seriously.  He had seen love many, many times and some of the strongest, most enduring forms of it that had ever occurred in the circles of the world.  Certainly, he knew the look of it, had always wondered how painters and weavers managed to capture the image of something quite invisible in their murals and tapestries.  But would he know if he’d felt it?  How _did_ anyone know such a thing, really?  Did it have a list of symptoms like those contained in the healer’s references in Elrond’s study? 

Oh, Glorfindel knew he had loved and dearly, to be sure.  He had loved Turgon as his King and friend, and Egalmoth, Duilin, Rog, Tuor… Galdor and Penlod, of course, too… though Ecthelion had been chief among them all.  And later, in Imladris, Elrond and Celebrían, the twins and Arwen, Erestor, Lindir….  So many were so dear to him.  Could he truly say that he would not recognize love?  But he knew that wasn’t the sort of love Ecthelion spoke of, and that was the sort of love Glorfindel had recognized in others, but hadn’t known in his own heart.

“I don’t know, Eithel,” Glorfindel said honestly.  “Who is it that you love so?” he asked, wondering why the question left him feeling… hollow.

Ecthelion was silent for so long, only the sound of his fountain filling the air around them. 

“It’s you,” he whispered, brokenly, at last.

“Me?” Glorfindel said, stunned.  “But… whatever can you mean…?  I thought….”  Then Glorfindel stopped.  “Do you… do you mean to say that you _love_ me?  As Erestor loves Celebrimbor, or Elrond, Celebrían… or Tuor loved Idril -”

“Yes,” Ecthelion murmured.  “Like that.  Except… those are loves returned, and so, perhaps more like Maeglin.”

Glorfindel shook his head.  “No, never like him, not you,” he said, placing a gentle hand on Ecthelion’s cheek and turning his face up.  The hopelessness in Ecthelion’s eyes was a blow such as Glorfindel had never known. 

And suddenly, something began to occur to Glorfindel.  All the things he had ever felt for Ecthelion over the many, many years - all the joys and contentment and laughter he’d known at Ecthelion’s side; the worry for him in battle and the heartbreak when Tuor had told him of Gothmog; the centuries since, of missing his friend, thinking back on their happy days together and his wish that they might have had nothing but days of peace. 

 _That_ had been love, no different to all those great loves that were the stuff of tales and poems and song.  It had been there all along, but it had always seemed so natural and so gentle, like something that had been with him since birth.  And Glorfindel had always thought that love – _that_ sort of love – would herald itself grandly, with trumpets and songs and perhaps a few of Mithrandir’s fireworks, so that it could not escape one’s notice. 

But this love… this love had been so quiet and unassuming, so undemanding….

“Ai, Valar!” Glorfindel breathed.  “How could I have ever been _such_ a fool?  To have had love all this time and known it not!”

Ecthelion shut his eyes tightly, though, and pulled away, begging raspingly, “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“Make fun of you?  Oh, never, my Eithel!  It is I who am the idiot – a great toad, indeed, as Erestor once laid upon me.  Oh, Ecthelion… I never realized that this love was not just a ‘greater’ friendship, but the love of tales, and now to see it here in the starlight of Aman, it is so plain!  I am a perfect fool, Ecthelion, and I am sorry for being so awfully oblivious.  Please, my beautiful Ecthelion, say you are not terribly hurt by my ignorance?  I could not bear it to hurt you,” Glorfindel said, reaching out to pull Ecthelion back to him and hoping he was not rejected.

“What are you saying, Glorfindel?  Please, speak plainly, for if you do not love as I love you, it is I who am the fool for having spoken and sundered our -”

“I love you, Ecthelion,” Glorfindel said quickly and unequivocally.  “Just as you do me, but that I have been far too stupid to realise it until I heard that word upon your fair lips,” he said, pulling Ecthelion into his arms and kissing him in such a way as he had never kissed another.

After a shocked moment, Ecthelion pulled back, looking into Glorfindel’s eyes.  “Oh, Glorfindel… you are certain of this?”

Glorfindel just nodded seriously.

Ecthelion couldn’t help the laughter of joy and relief that escaped him as he threw his arms around Glorfindel and seconded that kiss with a fervent reply of his own. 

 


End file.
